Hermione was in no mood to engage-partly thanks to the growing, throbbing pain in her temples, and partly thanks to the growing, throbbing pain her old professor was becoming-so she remained silent. Pulling out the chair in front of his desk, she sat down and made no eye contact, choosing instead to look out a window. This was the wrong choice since the light only exacerbated her headache.
She squinted, waiting for him to start, yet he remained silent as well. Finally, she turned to face him, steeling her features, reminding herself that she was an adult and no longer an eager to please eleven-year-old. Her mental energy was wasted however, since Snape was busy looking at some papers on his desk.
Of course, Hermione thought, I forgot how much he loves to remind me that I am not worth his time.
Hermione crossed and uncrossed her legs, shifted her weight in the chair, and stared at the map of Germany, Austria, and Switzerland hanging behind Snape's desk before clearing her throat. Her former professor, meanwhile, was unfazed and had begun to write in the margins of the paper.
"Sir?" Hermione said softly.
No response.
"Sir," she said, with a bit more force.
Still, he continued to scribble. She took an audible breath.
"Snape," Hermione said, doing an impression of old schoolmates' disdain for the name.
Finally his dark eyes met her own. His face was unreadable. He did not seem unhappy that she had spoken in such a rude manner, but then again, he certainly was not pleased either.
When is this man ever happy? Hermione smiled at the thought. Oh, yes, only when he is hurling insults at little girls with already low self-esteem.
"Is something the matter, Granger?"
"Why would I drag myself out of bed at this ungodly hour if I'm just going to sit here?" Hermione said, not realizing how angry she had become.
Snape gave her a pointed look before setting down his fountain pen
Bastard, she thought.
Hermione nearly jumped when he locked eyes with her, as if he heard the epithet. He interlocked his fingers and set his elbows on the table.
"Why would I start our meeting on time if you yourself are not going to respect it with punctuality?"
Hermione took a deep breath. Perhaps this was all a plan to set her over the edge so he could complain and get her fired. Or, at the very least, get her removed from this co-teaching position. A part of her briefly considered indulging that desire. But a greater part of her recognized that would be exactly what he wanted and she was in no mood to do as this man pleased.
"Look, sir," she said, trying to return to some sort of cordiality, "if now is not a good time, we can reschedule."
She prayed her desire to be rid of him was not too obvious. Yes, she wanted him to know she found his presence unbearable, but not enough that he was winning by getting under her skin.
"Absolutely not," he said sternly. "The students are arriving tomorrow and we need some semblance of a plan."
"Yes, that what I said from the very beginning! So why could we not have met sooner?"
"We could have." Snape leaned back in his chair. "I never heard anything from you about wanting to meet."
"Heard anything from me? You're the senior teacher! And based on that first and only meeting, it made it seem like you had no intention of helping me. Then you tell me about meeting when we're," Hermione took a calming breath before saying the next word, "dancing and it's for the next morning after a late night? I know you don't want to work with me and trust me, I don't either, but could have probably made it easier on yourself by at least trying to cooperate with me."
Despite the fury that was sure to be written on his face after her outburst, Hermione returned her gaze to his face. To her surprise, however, he was not mad. Or even annoyed. She could not immediately place his mood and before she could decipher it, his features returned to their typical, impassive mien. Hermione quickly dropped her gaze, wondering if she was letting her anger get to her head again. It was then she noticed he was only wearing a white dress shirt, of which the top two buttons were undone. His usual cravate was absent, leaving the angry red scar visible on his neck. In that moment, she almost felt bad for the infuriating man. Almost. But why had he not covered it up? He had known she would be coming. Sure, he must have known that she knew of its existence, but Snape did not seem the man to bear his scars to people.
"Look," he said, "I never planned on you helping me teach."
"Well, that's ridiculous. There aren't enough hours in the day-"
"Because I did not think you would still be here for the start of the term."
Hermione snorted. What kind of excuse was this? Was he expecting her to suffer some horrific incident? The accident would have to have been fatal, because there was little-besides the man in front of her-from her accomplishing what she had came here to do.
"Equally ridiculous. Have I ever been shown as someone to go back on her word?" Hermione said, feeling her pulse quicken.
"No."
"Exactly. Why don't you just tell me the real reason you've been avoiding me?"
"I don't know why you would think I am lying to you, but if you want brutal honesty, I'll give it to you."
"Why would I want anything but honesty?"
"Suit yourself, Granger. I was trying to be nice."
And you were doing such a splendid job, she thought.
"Why did you come here?" he asked.
"Why are you asking me questions? I thought you were going to tell me something," she answered, growing annoyed.
"Why did you come here?" Snape repeated.
"I thought we established this was none of your business."
"I thought we were being honest with each other."
"I said I wanted honesty from you. I never said anything about honesty from me."
"And therein lies the problem, doesn't it? Why are you, Hermione Granger, 'brightest witch of her age,' here? You don't belong here and you know it. You're just not being honest with yourself."
"I don't belong here?" Hermione laughed forcefully. "Why are you, Severus Snape, inveterate child hater, here? You don't need to be teaching. The war's over. You did your job."
"You want the truth?"
"Yes."
"It's none of your fucking business. And that's the truth."
"Likewise."
"Well, that's the difference between you and me, isn't it? I already know why you're here. I just want to hear it from you, so maybe you'll understand that I'm right, that you don't belong here."
"You're bluffing."
Snape rolled his eyes.
"Maybe I am. But it's just as you said; clearly the war never ended for me. I never stopped being a spy. It's a spy's job to know."
He said the last bit with such condescension that it made her skin crawl. Hermione rolled her eyes. The exit was becoming more and more enticing. She was not his student, but an equal now. She did not have to continue suffering the Dungeon Bat's posturing. She did not belong here? What the hell did he know anyway? Hermione moved to get up.
"Where are you going? We still have work to do," Snape said, closing his eyes and putting his hands on his temples.
She was giving him a headache now?
"I did not come here to be berated for my life choices, which, by the way, is none of your fucking business. We do have work to do, but you don't seem keen on starting any time soon," Hermione said, standing.
"If I recall correctly, you got us on this tangent."
Hermione had pushed in the chair and Snape was leaning forward on his elbows, his own annoyance becoming evident.
"No, you did. Why couldn't you just be professional and start when I got here? I know you don't care about being a good teacher-"
Snape was standing up now, but Hermione was already turning toward the door.
"Look, I will just come back later when we've both had a chance to cool off," she said, barely looking at him.
"No. First, you insinuate that I hate children and then you tell me I don't care about teaching the students."
"Oh, so, you're telling me that you don't hate children? Or just people, in general?"
"I was a spy. And I taught an extremely dangerous subject. How did you want me to act?"
"I don't know. Maybe like you actually wanted to be there."
"Maybe I didn't."
"So, you could've left at any time."
"Do you really think either of my masters would've allowed that?"
Hermione did not answer immediately. He was right, of course.
"Was I that poor of a teacher? Did you learn nothing?"
Perhaps her headache was causing her to imagine things, but she thought she could almost detect a note of hurt in his voice. Maybe she was being too harsh on him. But maybe he was also manipulating her, her inner cynic thought.
"No." Hermione said the next part much quieter. "But you could've been nicer."
"Nicer?"
The sneer had returned. Evidently she had not had to worry about hurting his feelings, if even for a split second.
"So, you think I wasn't a good teacher because I did not heap praise upon you and the rest of your cohort? Tell me, did you even enjoy learning, or did you want to know more than everyone else to provide you with some sort of external validation?"
"I don't have to deal with this."
"And yet you do. You signed up to be a teacher yourself and now you have to deal with the consequences: teaching with me."
Hermione considered at the man leaning over his desk. Despite his current position, Snape was still taller than her. He was right, of course, and she should have been more prepared to deal with perhaps the most difficult man she had ever known. He would most likely continue to be difficult, but that did not mean she had to accept defeat, right?
"Alright. I suppose you're right. But if it's like you said, you already know why I am here and don't need my explanation. So, let's just continue."
Snape sniffed. Hermione began unloading her notes onto the table, desperate to get out of that room even faster than before. Snape had sat back down and seemed, at least for the time being, to have given up.
The two began their discussion in earnest, with Snape doing most of the talking. Hermione conceded the floor to him and agreed to almost everything he said, since she was not only the junior teacher, but also hoped to placate him. She was fairly confident he would not notice so much if she were to change some aspects part way through the year.
When they finally finished, Hermione could tell her heart had slowed. She knew that she would probably sleep better that night now that finally she had some semblance of a plan for her French-learners.
The rest of the morning continued in a blurr, Hermione lost in her thoughts about that morning and the year to come as scenes and conversations happened around her. At lunch, she sat with her friends, but could not seem to focus on them or follow anything they were saying. Perhaps it was the stress of the fight with Snape or maybe it was just her brain refusing to French at the moment.
"Do you think Étienne and Estelle will still be together?" she heard Béatrice say.
"No, definitely not," Phœbé said.
Hermione had no idea who these people were. Mutual friends, fictional characters in a book series she had not read, or possibly even the first names of professors she had not yet learned.
"Are you sure? You should have seen them-" Béatrice responded, leaning closer to Phœbé, a piece of chicken impaled on her fork.
"I'm sorry, Jean. We're excluding you," Phœbé interrupted.
She almost forgot that she should be responding to "Jean," but luckily Phœbé had looked right at her when she said it.
"No, it's fine. I'm having an off kind of day anyway and I don't want to spoil your fun. You can keep talking about it."
Hermione was not sure if she really felt like talking much anyway.
"Well," Béatrice said, pointing her now empty fork at Hermione. "This 'fun,' as you so aptly put it, doesn't have to not include you. We're always looking for new participants. More money in the pot will sweeten the deal."
She was not following their conversation at all.
"They bet on which couples will still be standing when the term starts," Sébastien explained, likely noting her blank look.
"Who?" Hermione asked.
"The students," Sébastien said with a disdainful look at their colleagues.
"Teachers know about that stuff?"
Everyone burst out laughing at Hermione's question. She reddened, not only from embarrassment of her ignorance but also at the horror of realizing her professors had speculated about her own teenage love life.
"Being a teacher isn't always as interesting as you would think," Phœbé said. "And trust us, most of the time we wouldn't like to know but these hormone-fueled adolescents, more often than not, make it impossible for us not to know."
"You make real money bets on the outcomes of your students' relationships? Is that ethical?" Hermione asked with an almost morbid curiosity.
"Well, when you put it that way," Béatrice started, but was interrupted by a much louder Sébastien.
"It's not much of a bet anyway. Young love never lasts."
The conversation ended there. Clearly Sébastien's disapproval was enough to keep the older women silent. Hermione did want to know more, but perhaps it was better for her not to realize how much Dumbledore and McGonagall and, though she shuddered to think of it, Snape had known about her and her friends' petty squabbles and stupid love triangles.
"How was your meeting with Herr Big and Scary?" Sébastien after they had finished their lunch.
Phœbé and Béatrice had already left, the reason for their earlier departure had been lost on Hermione, still deep in thought. She and Sébastien were now walking together, seemingly having found themselves going in the same direction.
"Hm?" Hermione asked, still running at only half-processing speed even though Sébastien had spoken to her in her mother tongue. "Oh, you mean Professor Rogue?" She smiled to herself. It was not quite as poetic as Dungeon Bat but she supposed it worked well enough for his current position. "It was fine. Boring really."
"I don't think anyone has ever called that man 'boring,'" Sébastien said with a small laugh. "Maybe for you though, the most interesting girl in the world."
Hermione thought on her choice of words. He truly was boring, wasn't he? After all this time and he was still as much of a miserable bastard as ever. Two wars later and one would think that he would have grown, even a little. But some people just don't change, she thought.
"How interesting can lesson planning be?" she added.
"Why don't I show you?"
Hermione crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow.
"Really?"
"What? I don't get points for smoothest segue ever? And we do need to plan," Sébastien said, running his hands through his hair.
"We? I don't need to plan anything. You are doing all of the legwork," Hermione said, pointing at her companion. "I am just there to be your partner."
"On the contrary, we'll be dancing so, naturally you will performing a bit of legwork."
Hermione laughed despite herself. She had really walked into that one.
"You're lucky we're speaking English. That would not have worked in French!"
Sébastien stopped short, chin in hand, feigning concentration. "No, you're right. I cannot think of an adequate French equivalent."
"Score one for the English language!"
"I'll give you that one. But only because at the end of the day we can all agree on which language is the most beautiful."
"What? You mean, like, Italian?" Hermione teased.
"You're lucky I need you or else I would not hesitate to hex you where you stand."
"I would like to see you try."
They reached the dance classroom. While waiting for Sébastien to come back from the supply closet, Hermione considered herself in the mirrors, feeling suddenly self-conscious. She wondered how she would fare in front of a group of children. Or how she would handle teaching students at all. Her chest grew tight. Oh, Merlin, what was she doing? Was she over her head? Maybe Snape was right, she thought bitterly. Maybe I don't belong here.
"Hello? Where have you gone?"
Hermione refocused her eyes and turned to smile at Sébastien. He was holding the stereo.
"Sorry, just thinking," Hermione said, pushing up her glasses.
"A dangerous pastime. I hope you don't do it too often."
Sébastien was no longer looking at her, but was bent over fiddling with the music player.
"No, hardly ever," she replied with a smile.
The music had begun. She was not an expert in genres but the song was uptempo and fully instrumental. Sébastien clasped his hands together and stepped closer to Hermione.
"Shall we get started?"
"And how's that?" Hermione asked coyly.
"By dancing, of course. I don't think it's fair for you to stand up in front of a group of sniggering children without giving you some practice first."
"I thought we were planning the lessons, not practicing," Hermione said, knowing full well that she needed all the practice she could get.
"Well, I've already got them planned. Waltz, Viennese waltz, tango, foxtrot, quickstep, schottische, polka, rumba, paso doble, samba," Sébastien said, listing the dances on his hands. "And those are just the Muggle dances. Actually, maybe we should've started practicing sooner."
"So, you just invited me here to insult me," she said, in mock disbelief.
"Hey, I'm offering you a chance to not embarrass yourself. You know what they say about first impressions. Plus, you know how cruel children are. I'm sure your classmates had plenty of kind names for your teachers. Do you want to be known as Professor Two Left Feet for the rest of your tenure?"
Hermione signaled her acquiescence by placing her hand on the wizard's shoulder and intertwining their fingers. Sébastien began leading her around the room, sharing words of correction and encouragement as they went.
"I don't know," Hermione said, out of the blue.
Sébastien who had been previously focused on her footwork, looked up at her.
"You don't know what?"
"Professor Two Left Feet-it's not nearly quippy enough."
"Is that so? What would you have them call you then?"
Hermione sucked in through her teeth, before adding, "Oh, I don't know. I'm not a cruel child."
"Really? Were you not once though?"
Hermione shook her head.
"No, not ever. At least not to my teachers. Then again, I practically worshipped them. I would even defend them to my peers, even when they probably didn't deserve it."
"I'm sure you were fun to be around," Sébastien said.
Hermione laughed.
"I think I'm mature and self-aware enough to know I was a regular stick in the mud. What about you? What were you like at school? I bet you were a real charmer."
Immediately regretting her choice of words, Hermione stared at her feet, forcing herself to think about the steps and hoping it was enough to not her turn her cheeks scarlet. Sébastien, however, seemed unperturbed, when she heard him laugh and then sigh.
"I don't think so. I wasn't as popular as you might suppose."
At first this response seemed to Hermione to be the end of that conversation and the best possible outcome-she evidently had not said something as awkward as she had initially feared. But then she heard Sébastien breathe in and her eyes were drawn to his.
"I only had one friend; we both grew up the same small town. And when we got to school, we were inseparable. But she was much more personable than me. Well, I guess that's putting it lightly. The sway she held over people-it's like she was magnetic. Naturally she had friends other than me. Still, she always made an effort to include me. Then we got older and the dynamic changed. We started dating." Sébastien sighed. "Looking back, I don't know why she agreed to it. Maybe it just felt like an inevitably."
"What happened then?" Hermione said, after an excruciating silence. But she said it just quietly enough that if he did not want to answer, he could pretend he had not heard. Selfishly, however, she hoped he would continue.
"She goes to England once." Sébastien removed his hand from Hermione's waist to punctuate his point with a raised index finger. "One time. And she tells me she doesn't love me anymore. And just like that, she's gone out of my life and moving to be closer to an Englishman that she'd just met.
"That's why I studied at Cambridge. I wanted to be close to her. I was pathetic. I knew where she worked and would make frequent trips there on the off-chance I would see her. But, she, kind as ever, was never rude to me when our paths did cross, which is more than I ever deserved. I deserved to be called out for the stalker I was. But still, I held out hope that she would grow tired of her English boyfriend and come back to me.
"Then, one summer day following my third year at university, I see her and she's as radiant as ever, beaming from ear to ear, and she tells me-" Sébastien sighed for a third time. "She tells me she's getting married to this Englishman and she would be honored to have me, her best friend at her wedding. She even told me she had convinced her fiancé to let me be one of his groomsmen.
"So, how did I react? After moving all that way just to be near her? After harassing her at her job? I didn't say anything, just walked away. I walked away and never saw her again. I guess that was the final straw for me; her engagement was the wake up call I needed. I received a wedding invitation by owl shortly after and when I didn't respond, one by post as well. I knew I had behaved abominably but I could not bring myself to watch the woman I thought I loved get married to someone else. I finished my studies a semester early and returned to France, vowing to never step on that island ever again.
"I'm sorry. You didn't ask for that. I just never told anyone that story before," Sébastien said, rubbing the back of his neck. Despite his emotion-filled story, it was only then that he stopped twirling Hermione about the room.
"You don't have to apologize. I'm-" Hermione searched for the correct word. "It's nice that you felt comfortable enough to tell me."
Hermione winced, still not sure that was the right thing to say. Not many people had confessed such personal stories to her, so she had no experience on how to properly respond.
"Is that why you hate the English?" Hermione asked, hoping to diffuse the tension with a joke, which was an equally risky move she realized belatedly.
"I hate the English because I'm French." Sébastien said, rewarding her efforts with a smile. "But that certainly helps. And I don't hate all of the English. I think some may have won me over."
"Why do you only speak English to me? And don't just say it's because I can't speak French; our colleagues understand me just fine."
"You know I'm just teasing you. I wouldn't look too deeply into it."
Hermione must have appeared hurt because Sébastien followed his comments up by adding, "I don't mean to offend. I also relish the opportunity to practice it with a native speaker; I was getting afraid of growing rusty. And did you know? A Muggle medical study found knowing a second language could delay the onset of Alzheimer's by four years?"
"No, I didn't know that. Although I don't make a habit of reading Muggle medical journals."
"Well, you should," Sébastien joked.
They had begun dancing anew. This time Hermione did not look at her feet or even really have to think about the steps.
"Do wizards even get Alzheimer's?" Hermione asked.
"Now that, that I don't know."
"Really? You don't know? I thought you knew everything."
"I thought you knew everything," Sébastien said, surprising Hermione with a dip.
The following morning Hermione was amazed at how refreshed she felt when she woke. Her "planning" session with Sébastien had instilled new confidence in her and they really seemed to be becoming good friends. Snape was wrong; she did belong here and her blooming friendships with the other teachers was proof of that.
Hurrying to the dining area for breakfast, Hermione checked and triple-checked her chosen outfit. Sébastien's words about first impressions were echoing in her mind and she had chosen something that hopefully indicated open and warm, but also firm. She wondered, then, what Sébastien's first impressions of her had been. Were they good? What about her other colleagues? She knew Snape must still be tainted by his original idea of her, a book-quoting know-it-all, desperate for approval. Hermione shook her head. Was it even worth it to disabuse him of these notions? No, she could recognize a lost cause when she saw one.
"Someone's up early."
Hermione nearly jumped out of skin when she heard his voice behind her. Thankfully it was only Sébastien, who might still tease her for scaring easily, but she would rather be made fun of by a friend anyway.
"I guess I was too excited to sleep," Hermione said with a shrug.
In truth she had no clue when she was supposed to arrive for breakfast on the first day, but decided to err on the earlier side.
"Breakfast doesn't officially start for another ten minutes and we probably won't see another soul until quarter of," Sébastien said, after wordlessly casting a Tempus charm.
They walked through the gilded archway together.
"I stand corrected. Someone else is here."
Hermione scanned the room until her eyes fell upon the dark figure sitting alone on the opposite side of the room.
"We should sit with him."
Hermione shook her head vigorously, hoping her diametric opposition was not too suspicious.
"It would be gauche not to! He's the only other person in the room," Sébastien said, seemingly unaware of her discomfort.
Hermione relented, hoping that since Sébastien was there, her former professor would be on his best behavior.
"Good morning, Robert."
Hermione held in a snort. His name was Robert Rogue? Would he die if his name did not alliterate?
"Good morning, Mr. Montclair. Miss Grey," Snape said, giving her a nod, but quickly returning to his morning paper.
"Big day, eh?" Sébastien said, evidently ignoring Snape's cue that he wanted to be left alone. "It's like the first day of school all over again. Well, I suppose it technically is."
Hermione stared down at her hands in her lap, praying desperately for the conversation to end. Why couldn't they have just sat by themselves? She did not feel comfortable bantering with Sébastien in front of Snape. Is that weird, she thought? No, it's probably just because Snape hated fun and would probably glare at us the entire time.
"Are you nervous? I must admit I'm still a bit nervous," Sébastien said, continuing to talk despite everyone else's reticence.
Hermione bit into a piece of toast, never having been grateful for a warm slice of bread to have magically appeared before her. Still, she nodded her agreement.
"What about you, Robert?" Sébastien asked, his own piece of toast in hand.
Snape remained engrossed in his paper.
"No, surely not. I believe you've been teaching longer than either of us has been alive, isn't that right?"
Hermione made a horrible choking noise and she fumbled for her coffee. Taking a large gulp, she burned her mouth but avoided making an even larger fool of herself. Why was Sébastien provoking Snape? And so early in the morning?
Snape, for his part, seemed unfazed.
"Ha," Hermione laughed forcefully. "Professor Rogue doesn't look a day over forty."
Hermione was not sure why she was complimenting him, but she hoped it would tamper the temper Snape possessed. She was complimenting him, right? How old was he, again? Was he older or younger than her parents? Hermione hoped that he actually was at least forty.
"Sorry to bother you, sir. We'll sit somewhere else," she added when Snape still did not look up from his paper.
"Sir?" Sébastien asked incredulously. "Why don't I receive such a level of formality?"
Hermione was standing up, as a less than subtle indication that she wanted Sébastien to join her. Sébastien, for his part, remained rooted in his seat.
"Because Professor Rogue is, uh, a more senior professor."
"You just said he didn't look a day over forty."
Hermione cast a withering look at her companion. At this rate, she was going to have to sit by herself at the opposite end of the room.
"Miss Grey," Snape said, at last. "I appreciate what you're doing, but thanks to my decades of teaching experience, I am adept at handling children. Besides, you and I have things we can discuss."
Hermione sat back down, embarrassment creeping into her cheeks. Snape had put down the newspaper and took a sip of his steaming, black coffee. Too mortified to get a good look at him earlier, Hermione saw now that he was just in his shirtsleeves, cravate missing, shirt slightly unbuttoned like the other day, but the scar was hidden, likely under a glamour. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it soon after, dumbstruck by her former professor.
"How many students will be in your class?" Sébastien asked, clearly pleased he had gotten Snape to talk.
"Eleven," Snape said. "Five from Spain, four from Portugal, one from the Netherlands, and one from Belgium."
"How exciting for us and for them. I hope they have a wonderful time. Although I can't see why not since they will have such a wonderful teacher."
"Thank you," Hermione said at the same time as Snape.
Sébastien laughed while Hermione silently chastised herself for assuming he had meant her. She had not even taught one class yet, who was to say she would be any good?
"Glad to see you're both so confident in your abilities. Nice change of pace from yesterday, eh?" Sébastien directed that last remark at Hermione.
Hermione just nodded, happy to leave it at that. To her horror, however, Sébastien continued.
"Yesterday we were reviewing the waltz and she was a ball of nerves at first. It was pretty cute-"
Hermione did not hear the rest of what Sébastien said. She could not think. Sébastien had called her "cute" in front of Snape and she wanted nothing more than to be hiding somewhere, like maybe under the table.
The rest of the teachers had begun filtering in and Hermione excused herself from the table as soon as she saw Béatrice and Phœbé enter the room. Perhaps she had misheard or maybe the word had a different connotation in French. In any case, she had suffered in awkwardness long enough and her friends were a good as excuse as any to relieve her torture.